Vic Candora, 73 years old, was dying. His doctor told him there was no hope. Hospice was his best option. He was reluctant to accept his doctor’s verdict, but the facts were undeniable.

 His wife, Mary rearranged their spacious bedroom to make her husband as comfortable as possible. The bed was turned around so that he could turn to his right and look out at the flower garden in their backyard. Vic had started the garden twenty-five years ago when they’d moved into their dream home in Vero Beach, Florida. He planted Knock Out roses, red and white, more every year. He added a bench and a birdbath too. His roses were so beautiful, he won prizes at the county fair a few times. Vic loved to sit in his rose garden smoking Dutch Masters, 5.5-inch President cigars. He allowed himself one a day and two on special occasions. When he got sick, his doctor told him his beloved cigars probably caused his problems.

 “Yeah, doc, I figured as much,” Vic had said. “Mary’s been trying to get me to quit for years.”

 Within a month after the doctor’s end of life prognosis, Vic was bedbound, too weak to be up and about. “I sure miss sitting in my garden,” he said to Mary one afternoon.

 “You miss drinking your Sangiovese and smoking that damn cigar, you mean,” she said.

 “Don’t be like that, Mrs. Candora. I’ve had a good run.”

 Mary caressed his cheek. “I know,” she said. “I’m going to miss you.” She offered him ice water which he sipped gratefully. “Oh, I meant to tell you. Tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be getting visitors,” she said. “It’s a surprise.”

 “I know,” Vic said.

 “How do you know? Did one of them call you?”

 “Not that I recall. I sort of dreamt they would come I guess.”

 “You know who it is?” Mary asked.

 “They’re all flying in from Phoenix, Vic said.

 “One of them told you. Who was it? Jimmy, Sandy, or Pete?”

 “Nobody called me, Mrs. Candora.” He sighed and gazed for a moment at his garden. The roses were in full bloom. “Long way to travel, just to see me like this.”  

 “Self-pity is not your style, Vic.” She playfully tapped the back of his hand.

“Self-pity? What are you talking about? Even at the jumping off point I’m still better looking than all of them.” He smiled and, with some effort, puckered his lips for a kiss.

 On Saturday morning, Vic’s son John came to the house to help his father prepare for his guests. He managed to get his father seated in the shower, toweled him off and trimmed his salt and pepper beard. John’s wife helped Mary make sandwiches. “What day is it?” Vic asked.

 “Saturday, Dad. Is there something you need?”

 Vic pointed to the Bible that was sitting on his nightstand. John handed it to him and Vic carefully turned the pages until he found what he was looking for. It was a check for $5,000, barely legible, made out to the church he attended now and then. “Put this in the basket for me on Sunday,” he said.

 John looked at the check and laughed. “You think you can buy your way in with the man upstairs?”

 Vic waved his hand impatiently. “Just do what I ask. Take your wife and kids with you.”

 “Dad, we don’t go to church. Let Mom do it. She still goes, right?”

 “I’m asking you to do it. Is that more than you can handle?”

 John put the check in his wallet. “I’ll take care of it.” He kissed his father goodbye and said, “See you Sunday afternoon.”

 The three men arrived just before one o’clock Saturday afternoon. Mary ushered them into the bedroom where she and John had set up chairs and trays so they could eat lunch while they talked. “She put a tray of sandwiches on a card table along with soft drinks. “I’ll leave you boys alone so you can tell your lies to each other. If you need anything, I’ll be in the sunroom.” 

 As soon as she was gone, Pete asked, “How’s it going, Vic?” The three men were all healthy looking and tan from hours on the golf course. Pete still had a full head of coal-black hair.

 “Been better, Pete,” Vic answered. The constant hum of the oxygen concentrator punctuated his words. “How was your trip in?” he asked.

 Sandy stood up and took a sandwich. “We left Phoenix two days ago. Took connecting flights to Albuquerque, San Antonio, Dallas, Jacksonville and Orlando.” He adjusted his eyeglasses and pointed to Jimmy. “El Cheapo here wouldn’t spring for a non-stop flight.”

Jimmy, who stood just 5’5”, shook his head in mock anger. “Don’t listen to him. We left early this morning and got to Orlando around eleven. It was my idea. I was afraid if we took a connecting flight you might be dead by the time we got here.”

 Vic laughed as hard as his lungs would allow. He loved these guys. He knew they would be unmerciful, just as he would be if it was one of them nearing the end. He reached for his nightstand and rang a tiny bell Mary had placed there for him. She walked in. “You did that just so you could show your friends once and for all you’re the king of your castle, didn’t you?”

 “No dear. They know you run my life for me.” He winked at the guys. “Would you get these boys a proper drink, please? They came a long way. Dr. Pepper isn’t going to cut it,” he said. “And one for me too.”

 “We have Scotch and rye,” Mary said. “Any preference?”

 Sandy was watching her carefully. She was still vivacious, but she looked exhausted in spite of the carefully applied makeup. He sensed that she did her crying when Vic was asleep. “I know what these birds drink. I’ll give you a hand,” he said.

 “Watch him Vic. He always had a thing for Mary,” Jimmy said, giving Vic an exaggerated wink. No one laughed and Jimmy immediately felt his chest tighten; annoyed with himself for saying something that felt so inappropriate.

 Vic, sensing Jimmy’s angst, came to his rescue. “You keep an eye on him, Jimmy. I have to watch Sandy here. He’s been eying Mary’s jewelry box since he got here.” The men laughed, relieving the tension.   

 Pete returned with the drinks, including a short one that was mostly water for Vic. “Salute,” Vic said, but his hand was shaking too much to take a sip. Jimmy, who was still standing next to him, brought the glass to Vic’s lips so he could get a taste. It made him cough. “The cheap stuff,” he said. “Mary must be saving the Macallen for the funeral.”

 The men ate their sandwiches and sipped Scotch while they exchanged stories. Friends since high school, they grew up within four blocks of each other. They’d stayed in touch and actually got closer again in their later years. Most of their conversation that afternoon centered on playing football, the girls they’d dated and reunions they had almost every year. After high school, the young men all went to the same college, but their careers landed them in cities far away from their original homes in Phoenix.

 Vic, who worked as a hospital executive wound up in Vero Beach, where he met Mary. Upon retirement, the other guys returned to their roots, but Mary, a Florida native, came from a big family, most of them still tied to the Sunshine State. Retiring to Phoenix wasn’t an option.

After lunch and a lot of good-natured laughter, a name they’d been avoiding finally came up. “I wish Frankie was here,” Jimmy said.  Frank had died six years earlier, the victim of a car accident on an Interstate near Tucson.  

 “He wishes he was here too,” Sandy said.

 Vic coughed. “I don’t think so, Sandy.” He motioned for a sip of water. “Listen guys, I know this will sound crazy, but I had a dream about Frankie Thursday night. He told me you were coming to see me today.”

 The men cast sideways glances at each other. Until that moment, they all felt that Vic was still as mentally sharp as ever. “What did he say, exactly?” Pete asked.

 “I’m going to tell you, but I need to be sure you guys understand that I haven’t lost my marbles.”

 “No, you haven’t,” Jimmy said, secretly hoping his simple declaration would make up for his earlier faux pas.

 Vic took a labored breath. “I said I had a dream, but it was more than that. I’ve had thousands of dreams in my life, but never one like this. It was technicolor, high definition stuff, you know?”

 The men nodded, not daring to look at each other. “Frankie looked like he did when we were younger, not kids, but more the way he looked in his forties. He wanted me to give you a message.” Tears started coming down Vic’s cheeks now. His breathing grew shallow.

 Sandy got up and wiped Vic’s face. “Take your time,” he said.

 “He told me I should have faith in God.” He hesitated and raised his hand. “Trust me, guys, I know how this sounds.”

 The three men shifted uneasily in their seats. Pete and Sandy raised their glasses and searched in vain for the last drops of Scotch.

 “The way Frankie said it was interesting. He said, ‘When you see the guys, tell them they should be childlike in their belief, the way we were when we were first taught about God.’”

 “I hate to say this, Vic, but Frankie wasn’t exactly a religious man. Isn’t it possible you dreamt something that you wanted to believe yourself?” Pete asked.

 Vic was very tired and soon he would need something for pain. “Sure, it might have been a hallucination.” He looked at his friends, turning his head slowly to make eye contact with each one. “I’m not telling you what to think or feel, guys. The fact that I’m dying doesn’t give me that right. I’m just passing on a message. One I happen to believe Frankie was sent to deliver.”

 “Did he say anything else?” Pete asked.

 “Yeah, it was weird. He kind of floated backwards. He was smiling the way he always did. He said, ‘Remember, Vic, childlike belief. Tell them I know it won’t be easy.’”

 None of the men spoke. Pete looked down at the floor. Sandy and Jimmy looked through the window at the rose garden. Mary walked in carrying the bottle of Scotch and a small ice bucket. “Thought you boys might want one for the road,” she said. “My guy tires easily these days.”

 “Good idea,” Pete said. He took the bottle and the ice and went about refilling the glasses, pouring less than an ounce in each glass. Vic shook his head no when Pete got around to him..

 “To Frankie!” Sandy said. The men stood. “Thanks for watching over us.”

The three men raised their glasses and swallowed their drinks. They shook Vic’s hand in turn and thanked him for a lifetime of good memories. The four friends cried, childlike.